


And the Cables Break

by neveralarch



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Episode: e032 Yellow Helicopters, Gen, POC Cecil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-28 06:56:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/pseuds/neveralarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This isn't a retraining session.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And the Cables Break

**Author's Note:**

> Contains spoilers for Yellow Helicopters and also canon-typical weirdness. Let me know if you need details.

The room in Night Vale's radio station is small and brightly-lit. There is no room for anything to hide. There is only room for a desk and two chairs, and two men to sit in those chairs. The man sitting behind the desk has a box of tissues and a folder. The folder contains sheets of paper with words on them, and also photographs with images of people in them. The man behind across the desk is smiling as he turns the pages in the folder. At least - it is probably a smile. The man's cheeks creak and strain with the force of it.

Cecil slumps back in his chair and tries to hide his scowl.

"Masters in Journalism," murmurs the man. "Twelve years experience in community radio. One of four NVCR interns to survive with three or more limbs intact. _Very_ impressive."

Cecil grunts, taps his artificial foot in acknowledgment. It is painful to be in a room with this man, with his double. It feels wrong to look at him. His double has burnished black skin, the same color as Cecil's own. He has his hair cut the same way, medium-length and pulled back tight against his head before exploding out into a curly cloud. His double looks like Cecil, but he is not. Obviously not. 

Cecil wonders if his double has a prosthetic too, or if he escaped young adulthood with all of his limbs intact.

"Remember, Mister Baldwin - can I call you Cecil?" His double tilts his head, friendly. "You can absolutely call me Kevin."

Cecil shrugs. Kevin is wearing a suit with a cheerful pastel-green shirt and a calm black tie, which, it must be admitted, give him a much more professional air compared to Cecil's baggy cargo shorts and bright pink tank-top. He has thick plug piercings in his ears, just as Cecil does, but Kevin's plugs look like they're made of old, yellowing bone. Cecil's plugs are also made of old, yellowing bone, but _they_ were a gift. Cecil doesn't know how Kevin got his plugs, but he doesn't think they were given willingly.

"Remember, Cecil, this isn't a retraining session." Kevin leans forward, pushing aside the folder. "StrexCorp just wants to make sure that there's a smooth transition as NVCR becomes NVSR."

Kevin pauses, looks at Cecil expectantly. Cecil raises his eyebrows.

"The 'S' stands for StrexCorp," says Kevin, when Cecil doesn't reply. "That's the only letter the board of directors decided to change. That's the kind of balance between tradition and progress that you can expect from StrexCorp! We want you to do everything just the same, but with a fun, new spin."

There's a longer pause. Kevin picks a bit of crusted blood out from under his fingernail.

"Wow," says Cecil, eventually. "Great."

Kevin beams at him. His eyes are the worst part; endless, lifeless pits dripping black ichor down his cheeks. Cecil is aware that his own blank white eyes aren't 'normal,' exactly, but Kevin looks like he crawled out of the depths of corporate hell. Which is probably accurate, from what Cecil's managed to dig up about StrexCorp in the past couple days.

"This is actually a bit of an honor for me, Cecil." Kevin grabs a tissue and carefully dabs some of the ichor away from his face before it can drip off onto the desk. "It's been a long time since I got a chance to speak with such a distinguished radio professional! Obviously, any comments I have on your work should only be taken as _suggestions_. I definitely don't want to ruin your workflow."

Cecil tries to look interested and receptive, instead of annoyed and resentful. He can tell that it's not working - he has _no_ control over his face or his angrily gesticulating shadow. There's a reason that he works in radio.

Kevin politely ignores Cecil's shadow, looks away from Cecil's face. "I'm just going to go over some of the transcripts from past shows with you, try to give you a sense of the new direction 'Welcome to Night Vale' will be taking in the future. Sound good?"

Cecil grunts, and Kevin opens the folder again.

"Now, I'm seeing a lot of negativity here," says Kevin. "About Desert Bluffs, about the local barber, about- oh! Steve Carlsberg! I love him - he's such a great guy, don't you think?"

"No," says Cecil, unable to keep quiet and tacitly assent like he should. "I do not think."

Kevin's grin freezes.

"In fact," says Cecil, finally managing a proper smile. "I actually think Steve Carlsberg is the worst. Just, yep, pretty much the worst! He is one awful human being."

"Negativity." Kevin's fingers start jerkily tapping on the desk. His smile is becoming a rictus.

"I try to be honest about how I feel," says Cecil. "Honesty is very important for journalism."

"Cecil, I _completely_ agree," says Kevin. His fingers are still tapping, and the desk is beginning to dent. "But it's also important to be kind, to, to soften the blows. We have to roll with the punches! A happy workforce is a productive workforce."

Cecil shrugs and doesn't say anything else, and eventually Kevin sighs and stops tapping. He flips another page.

"I like the way you talk about this Carlos," says Kevin. "He sounds _so_ nice."

"He's my boyfriend." Cecil finds that he is smiling again, unable to be sullen when thinking about Carlos. "We just had our one month anniversary."

"Congratulations!" says Kevin. "I'm sure you'll be happy to know, Cecil, that StrexCorp is a non-discriminatory, equal opportunity employer. I hope you bring Carlos to the next workplace get-together, I'd love to meet him."

Cecil is not happy to know this. Being told that StrexCorp is non-discriminatory feels threatening, somehow, like he's being extended a favor that might be taken away at any moment. He also does not want Kevin to meet Carlos. He really, really doesn't.

"Maybe I'll ask Maxi if they would like to go to the next Vulture-Scorpion football game." Kevin takes out his phone and starts tapping away at the keyboard. "Maxi is my partner, and they love watching friendly high school competitions almost as much as they love meeting new people! Maybe we could go to dinner with you and Carlos, get to know each other outside of work."

"Maybe," says Cecil, trying to be non-committal while his brain screams _no, no, no_.

"I guess the next game in Night Vale is Friday after next," says Kevin. "Are you and Carlos free?"

"I'll have to check my schedule," says Cecil. He doesn't have a schedule, but he's going to make one and then mark Friday as completely, totally booked. "I'll let you know."

"Great!" Kevin puts his phone away again. "Anyway, back to work. We'll have to make up those two minutes of productivity we lost, Cecil, sorry about that."

Kevin dabs at his eyes again, flips a few more pages. Cecil screams internally. It's not even about Kevin, not anymore. It's just the process of being in this interminable meeting, accomplishing nothing. Cecil wants to be in his sound booth, but the sound booth is being refitted with shiny new equipment that blinks ominously and makes sloshing noises when jostled.

Kevin pushes a piece of paper across the desk. "How would you report that piece of news?"

Cecil squints at the paper, then remembers that his reading glasses are in his pocket and puts them on. It's a news bulletin from last week, when the Emerald Ash Borer struck. He glances up at Kevin, who makes an encouraging, go-on gesture. Cecil clears his throat.

"Listeners," he says, trying to imagine the microphone in front of him and the weight of the headphones on his ears. "Listeners, I've just received a report that the Emerald Ash Borer is coming. The Emerald Ash Borer is already here. The Emerald Ash Borer is hungry. I am not sure what it will eat, since there aren't actually any ash trees in Night Vale. Maybe it will go away, harmless. Maybe it will stay, and eat... other things. Please, stay in your homes until we understand the Emerald Ash Borer's intentions. If it has intentions. If it has any conscious control over the actions of its body, as it strives to fill its empty, insectoid stomach."

"Wow!" says Kevin. "That was really something. I have goosebumps."

Cecil tries not to preen. Kevin's compliments mean nothing to him.

"But," says Kevin, carefully. "Didn't that seem a little, I don't know, scary? We're trying to think positively here, Cecil."

"How would you do it?" asks Cecil, half because he's curious and half because he's pretty sure that's what Kevin wants him to ask.

"Oh, let me see." Kevin retrieves the paper, looks down at it through the gunky haze of his eyes. He clears his throat. "Hello, listeners! Have I got some exciting news for you - the Emerald Ash Borer is coming to visit our little town. The Emerald Ash Borer does like to eat trees, but due to the foresight of StrexCorp logging division, there are no longer _any_ trees in Desert Bluffs. I think that means the Emerald Ash Borer will be moving on soon enough. See if you can catch a glimpse of it on your way to work this morning, before it's gone! This really is a once in a lifetime event."

Cecil stares at Kevin, at his dripping eyes, at his slightly self-conscious smile.

"What do you think, Cecil?" asks Kevin.

"Three people died last week," says Cecil. "Ripped apart by the Borer's mandibles."

"Very sad." Kevin's smile is fixed, but at least it looks momentarily sympathetic. "Even so, it's important to keep up everyone's morale!"

The silence is inviting, Kevin giving Cecil a moment to understand. Cecil is repulsed to realize that he does understand.

"You want me to report the same news," says Cecil, slowly. "But you want me to make it sound... _happy_."

"Exactly!" Kevin closes the folder abruptly and stands up. "Exactly, Cecil. What a great meeting. I really think we connected, don't you?"

Cecil levers himself up out of his chair, gingerly shakes Kevin's hand when Kevin offers it. Kevin is still talking, something about synergy and cross-station collaboration and paradigms. Cecil tries not to stare at the streaks of blood that Kevin's fingers have left on his palm. He tries not to stare at Kevin's eyes dripping, down the face that looks like Cecil's face.

"I'm really looking forward to dinner," says Kevin. "You'll let me know about your schedule?"

"Absolutely," says Cecil, through gritted teeth. "I can't wait."

Kevin chuckles and pats him on the shoulder. "You've got such a great smile, Cecil! I'm sure the listeners can hear it in your voice."

Kevin walks out of the office, leaves Cecil wondering. Eventually Cecil walks into the men's bathroom, pats Khoshekh perfunctorily before risking a look in the mirror above the sinks. He grits his teeth and curls his lips, just like he had when talking to Kevin. Khoshekh begins to growl.

Cecil doesn't recognize the man in the mirror, with his casual clothes and old bone plugs. The body is definitely his, the blank white eyes are definitely his, but the rictus, the grimace, the _smile_ -

Well, that's all Kevin.


End file.
